


Dances with Wolves

by ishouldwritethatdown



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Do Not Ask Me To Write More Of This I'll Kill You, Dog Jokes, Hickies, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Just All Of The Dog Puns, Light Bondage, M/M, Not Really Character Death, One Shot, Sexual Content, Teeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25087777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishouldwritethatdown/pseuds/ishouldwritethatdown
Summary: The tension between Damon and Mason goes in theotherdirection after the barbeque. Discoveries are made about the mixing of werewolves and vampires. Lots of dog-related puns are made.
Relationships: Mason Lockwood/Damon Salvatore
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	Dances with Wolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlurbMonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlurbMonster/gifts).



> I promise I have so many other, less trashy projects I'm working on but they're all long and this is just short and stupid and also not my fault because I'm being held hostage and forced to watch Vampire Diaries against my will. I'm so invested. Please save me.

“Damon.”

“Yeah, yeah. Quit _hounding_ me about it.”

Mason’s patience was running out. “You’re not as funny as you think.”

“You’re still smiling, though,” he said, getting in close in that way he did. The smell of bourbon was overpowering, and not as alluring as he probably imagined it was when he used it as aftershave. Or whatever it was he did to make it come across so strongly. Damon’s eyes flicked down to Mason’s lips, and he renewed his smirk. Chasing his breath, there was the scent of blood and the plastic it had been packaged in.

“ _Damon_.”

“Ooh, down, boy. Don’t snap, or I’ll have to have you put down.” Damon lifted his leg to straddle Mason’s hips, and ran his hand along his right arm as their noses came close to touching. “One more kiss?” he suggested, puckering his lips.

“One more,” he echoed, and closing the gap between their mouths took no time at all. He intended to pull away after a moment or two, but he found himself deepening the kiss, and Damon responded eagerly. Mason invited his tongue into his mouth, ran his own over the fangs that sharpened into a point whenever he got too excited. _You find me that irresistible, huh?_ he thought about saying, but that would have meant breaking the kiss, and it was only just getting good.

He heard a click, and his hand came free. While they made out, Damon had let his hand continue along his arm, and unlocked the handcuffs keeping him tied to the bed. Easily breakable if he used his full strength, and it didn’t go unlampshaded that this setup was vastly more comfortable than chaining himself up in the Lockwoods’ old basement every month.

“Your nice linen sheets wouldn’t last long on a full moon night,” Mason had said.

Damon had raised an eyebrow and said, “If they’re not in shreds by the end of tonight, we must be doing something wrong.”

Cheek to cheek, Mason felt his breath on his ear, sending a shiver through him as they both sensed the blood pumping through the artery on his neck. Who knew what werewolf blood would do to a vampire? Not for the first time since the night began, he felt the impulse to find out. Damon’s fingers grazed along the blood vessels in his right arm, urging him to puncture them.

“Haven’t you got somewhere to be?” he said coyly, unlocking the other cuff.

Mason flipped their positions, pinning Damon against the mattress, and resolved to wipe that grin off his face. When they broke from the kiss after longer than either could guess, a hot breath rose from Damon’s mouth, and he tried to tilt his head to let their lips connect again, but Mason was busy with other endeavours – sucking hard on Demon’s neck, right on the pulse point.

“Careful.” Mason felt the word thrum in Damon’s chest, and thought for a moment that he might have succeeded in worrying him, before he heard the persistent smirk in his warning, “You’re not trying to kill me, are you?”

“Maybe you deserve it,” Mason breathed into his neck.

He laughed, and his hands – delicate, delicate, too delicate for a man like him, and precise like a snap of the neck – glided over his ribs and further down. “Bad dog,” he whispered.

Mason nipped his neck with his teeth, chastising him for being so patronising and refusing to drop the dog puns, and Damon froze. Mason pulled back, and his hand went up to the place where a hickey would form nicely for the few minutes he could enjoy it before his vampire-healing destroyed it.

“Did you just bite me?” he asked, looking genuinely shocked.

“I barely even nipped you, you pussy,” Mason scoffed.

“Werewolf bites are fatal to vampires,” he argued, genuine panic seeming to rise in his voice.

He sat up and off him, saying, “I didn’t even break the skin, here, take your hand away—”

“Mason—” Damon’s free hand reached for him, stopping him from getting his own in to pry his hand away from the hickey. He was breathing quicker, and there was sweat-scent hitting Mason’s nose in sheets, making his own heart rate tick up. “Mason.”

“Don’t do this, dude, just stop messing around,” he said, sounding both as humourless and nervous as he felt.

Damon’s eyes rolled back, and he followed shortly after, going limp on the bed. Cursing under his breath, Mason took his hand from his neck and examined the hickey spot. It was coming nice and red, but there was no broken skin – although, with a vampire, would it have already healed by now anyway. “Damon. Hey. Damon.” He slapped his face lightly back and forth. “Don’t die, I swear to god. Shit.”

He clambered off the bed to go and shout for someone, probably Stefan – oh god, he was going to have to tell Stefan that he killed his brother by giving him a hickey – and then remembered that his whole dick was out, and swithered for a moment between grabbing his pants from the floor or not.

As he was trying to yank his jeans over his legs, he heard, “What are you doing?” and almost jumped out of his skin.

Damon was sitting propped on his elbow, regarding him with some perplexity.

“I swear to god, I am going to bite you for real,” he pointed from the floor where he’d fallen on his ass.

“Why are you getting changed?”

“Because I had to go find Stefan.”

He looked downright offended. “Here I am, lying dead as a dog, and you’re worried about decency. He’s my brother. He’s seen worse. Caught me in more compromising positions. _Now_ what are you doing?”

Mason was putting his shirt back on. Instead of saying that, he said, “Well, when I kill you for real in a few seconds, I’d still better tell your brother. For decency’s sake.”

“And leave me like this?” he pouted, indicating with his eyes what he felt was unfinished. “That’s not very decent of you.”

Mason’s speed in his human form was not as impressive as a vampire’s, but it still caught Damon by surprise to feel his hands on him, much to his satisfaction. “How about I bite your dick off? Decent enough for you?”

Damon leaned up for a kiss, and Mason leaned back. “See you later,” he said, releasing him.

“When’s part 2?”

He shrugged his jacket on and weighed up the opportunity. He couldn’t resist. “How about when you learn not to bite the _hound_ that feeds you?”

Damon called as he was already halfway out the door, “Oh no, wait, keep ‘em, coming, I’m gonna cum. Baby, come back. Don’t make me do the puppy dog eyes.”

When Damon eventually left his bedroom, he meandered over to his drinks tray and poured a glass, trying to think of a good way to greet Mason when he returned. He didn’t want to repeat any jokes. He had integrity to maintain.

He heard a choking noise, and turned to see Jeremy sitting in a chair against the wall, black hoodie drawn up in a poor attempt to hide him from view. He was holding what could be loosely described as a stake.

“What are you doing here?”

He seemed to struggle for an answer for a moment, before saying distractedly, “You don’t lock your front door…”

Damon frowned, and looked down at his shirt. Blood spilled on it? Inside out? Not wearing pants? No, he was dressed normally. Nothing in his appearance to explain why the kid was going googly-eyed at him. “What is it?” he asked finally.

He seemed equally confused, indicating his tumbler vaguely. “Did you just drink that?”

He looked between the empty glass and Jeremy. “Yeah, I think I hit the legal drinking age about 150 years ago.”

“No, I mean… I laced it with vervain.”

He sniffed the glass. Maybe there were faint traces, but mostly he just smelled the bourbon. He felt around his mouth with his tongue – did the burn of the alcohol feel any more extreme than usual? He couldn’t tell. His senses seemed to be dulled—for that matter, how had Jeremy even managed to sneak up on him like that? “I feel fine,” he shrugged. “The stuff you got must have been bad.”

“It was fresh-picked…” he said.

They stared at each other. Eventually, Damon shouted Stefan, and he arrived with an irritated, “What?”

His verdict on the tumbler was asked. His questions about why Jeremy was slouched in a chair clutching a stake were deflected. Stefan asked if Damon had been trying to build up a vervain immunity. If maybe the heavy dose of vervain he had taken recently had something to do with it. The quality of the vervain was interrogated.

“Well,” Stefan said, “I guess there’s only one explanation.”

“There is?” Jeremy said.

“What’s that?” Damon said.

Stefan took a long pause. “A werewolf bite is supposed to kill a vampire, right?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Jeremy asked.

Stefan nodded at Demon – specifically at Damon’s neck. His fingers brushed where Mason had given him the hickey, and he realised that Stefan could still see it. It hadn’t faded away with his vampire healing abilities. “Are you saying,” he said slowly, “what I think you’re saying?”

Stefan shrugged. He looked smug. Damon hated it when he looked smug. He vanished – when had he got so fast that he couldn’t even see him move? – and returned with a blood bag from the fridge. “Let’s test it out, puppy lover.”

He hadn’t felt self-conscious in his entire undead life. What was he doing feeling self-conscious in front of his dick brother and Jeremy fucking Gilbert? He took a slurp of blood, and felt his nose crinkle in disgust. He coughed, and thrust the bag back into Stefan’s arms. “It’s off.”

He sniffed it, stupid smug smile never leaving his stupid smug face. “No, Damon, it’s really not.”

“Can you explain to me what’s going on?” Jeremy demanded, in a sort of pathetic nervous way. He was a baby in a black hoodie holding a stick. It would have been laughable if Damon was in the mood for laughing.

“Werewolf bites kill vampires,” Stefan repeated. “Or, I think more specifically, they kill the vampire _part_ of a person.”

“Does that mean…?”

“Don’t say it,” Damon warned, scowling.

“He’s human,” Stefan smirked.


End file.
